The Witching Hour
by FrancesOsgood
Summary: A deceptive dream brings Sarah once again into the powerful clutches of the Goblin King. He's watched her dreams and heard her whispered wishes, and this time nothing will compel him to let her go.
1. Chapter 1

**The Witching Hour**

He had come to her some time after midnight. The moon had hung low in the winter clouds and the bitter wind had sent prickles of ice through his soft snowy feathers and straight into his bones. Still, he had flown. The Goblin King was after a prize tonight and was no longer willing to return empty-handed.

He knew enough of her dreams to get her to say the words. He had watched her, listened to her dreamy murmurings as she slept, eyes closed, dark hair spread like spun silk on her pillow. He had bent the rules a bit, but then they were his rules to bend as he wished.

"I wish," she had mumbled dreamily. Her head had fallen forward and she had muttered something unintelligible. The Goblin king held a glowing crystal so that it illuminated her face in the dim light of her room.

"What do you wish, Sarah?" he asked impatiently.

Sarah giggled, the dreams in her head taking a ridiculous turn. "I wish," she began. "I wish the pony wouldn't go so fast." She laughed again and tossed her head back, the dreams fading as REM sleep deepened into dreamless slumber. He was losing her. He had to act quickly.

He took her face in his hands and forced her attention onto the shimmering crystal.

"Sarah, tell me," he said and his voice trembled with frustration. "What do you wish about the Goblin King?"

Sarah gazed deep into the crystal, hypnotized by its pulsing light.

"I wish…" Jareth held his breath.

"I wish the Goblin King would take me away right now," Sarah whispered.

With a triumphant cry, Jareth took her hand with one of his. With the other, he moved the crystal back and forth from his palm to the back of his hand, weaving it left and right. The air pulsed with magic as the veil between worlds parted and they were carried away to his castle beyond the goblin city.

* * *

Jareth had stayed by her side until she had awakened. He simply had to see her face when she woke and realized where she was. A little shiver of gleeful anticipation had run up his spine when he imagined the tears and tantrums. It would be delicious. He smirked to himself and watched anxiously as the morning light crept over her lovely face and she began to stir. He stared, rapt, as one green eye opened in the golden glow and then abruptly snapped shut again. The other eye opened, blinked, and shut again. Unable to stand it any longer, the Goblin King reached out a gloved hand and touched her shoulder.

"Sarah," he called to her in a sing-song voice. Both eyes opened wide and Jareth steeled himself for the inevitable scream. 3….2…1… nothing. He looked down at her the eyes again and found them studying him coldly. Dark brows furrowed, the eyes narrowed at him and he heard her voice.

"I had damn well better be dreaming."

* * *

"Oh it's not a dream, Precious," Jareth cooed as Sarah sat up and took in her surroundings. "Well, it was, but you made it real," he continued.

Sarah stared at him blankly. He took in the sight of her: hair bed-rumpled, eyes, slightly glazed. She wore only a short nightshirt and his eyes followed the long, smooth lines of her legs until they disappeared beneath the bed sheets. Seeing him staring, Sarah pulled the sheets up under her chin.

"How did I 'make it real?'" she asked, annoyance in her tone.

"Why, by wishing, of course," Jareth answered as if she were a child.

'I did no such thing," Sarah retorted. "And don't talk to me like I'm a little girl. I'm not."

"I can see," Jareth purred and Sarah pulled the sheet up tighter around herself.

Snatching the sheet from her grasp, he looked her up and down. He let out a soft sigh of appreciation as the cool morning breeze swept across the room making the peaks of her breasts stand out against her thin nightshirt. Sarah frowned and folded her arms over her chest.

"You disgusting pervert," she spat. "I hope you weren't ogling me like that when I was fifteen."

Jareth laughed low and guttural. "What?" he said. "You mean when you were a coltish little thing with the figure of a wood sprite? Hardly." His gaze grew fierce. "But you have changed, Sarah," he continued in a husky voice, "in so many unexpected and delightful ways."

His eyes bore into her and Sarah shivered. She was already unnerved at finding herself back in this place of tricks and illusions, but now here was her old adversary leering at her as if she were a plate of sweets to be devoured. How had this even happened?

"Jareth," Sarah said, annoyed. "I want to know how I got here."

The Goblin King sat back and tugged at the wrists of his ebony gloves. "I've already told you," he answered flatly, "You wished it."

Sarah shook her head vehemently. "No, I didn't."

"You did, Sarah," whispered Jareth. "Think. Remember."

Sarah closed her eyes and a strange jumble of dreams floated through her memory: a beach, a birthday party with animals in funny hats and a clown making balloon animals from soap bubbles, and somewhere… Her mind reached out into the void for the dream. She had been in her room. It was dark except for the glow of a magic crystal. A voice in the shadows told her to say the words…

"Oh god." Sarah's eyes opened and she felt the urge to be sick. Jareth smiled at her and mockingly kissed her hand.

"You wished yourself away to me," he said coldly. "And don't try to tell me you didn't mean it."

Red hot fury welled up in Sarah and she fought the urge to scream.

"No," she hissed through clenched teeth. "You tricked me. It's not-"

The Goblin King pressed a gloved finger to her lips. "Don't you dare say it," he warned. "It doesn't matter anyway. Dreaming or not, what's said is said."

Unable to control her anger any longer, Sarah lunged at him. She tried to wrap her hands around his throat, but he caught both her wrists in an icy grip and pushed her back onto the bed, pinning her beneath him.

"Don't defy me, Sarah," he growled. "I allowed it once and it very nearly destroyed me. I'll not make the same mistake again."

"What are you going to do, kill me?" Sarah asked pointedly. "I'm not afraid of you, Goblin King"

"No, Sarah, I won't kill you. That would be a tremendous waste." Jareth's eyes glanced over her body again and unable to cover herself, Sarah felt completely exposed to his lustful gaze.

"Besides," he continued, "there are so many worse things than death."

He placed both of her wrists in one hand and used the other to lightly stroke her cheek. Sarah winced beneath his touch. She could feel the tingle of magic in his fingertips even through his leather gloves. It sent prickles of electricity through her skin and deep into her core. Jareth smirked. He knew what he could do, and soon he would.

* * *

He had left her without a word. Releasing her wrists, he was through the heavy door before Sarah could respond. She heard a lock click into place and she flopped back onto her pillow, willing herself not to cry. For all she knew Jareth was watching, taking his twisted delight in her predicament. She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. Her wrists ached and her cheek still tingled where he had caressed her. Sarah brought her hand up and touched the spot, remembering the feel of his fingers against her skin. She couldn't stop her mind from wandering briefly, imagining the feel of his hands brushing across her collarbone, following the curve of her hip, the small of her back.

Sarah gasped and shoved the thoughts away. "Stupid," she muttered, furious at herself for even allowing such thoughts into her head. This was Jareth, the Lord of the labyrinth, the Goblin King who had stolen her brother and had now stolen her. Sarah shook her head trying to make the sick feeling go away. He had tricked her back into his clutches, back under his power, and this time Sarah knew there were no magic words to save her.

* * *

Jareth had tried hard to resist. He wanted to savor his victory for as long as possible. Still, the thought of her crushed beneath him on the bed as she had been that morning had pushed every other thought aside. It had felt so good, so _right._ In that brief moment that he had held her down tightly and she had looked up at him, trembling with fear and anger, the need for revenge had fled, replaced with only need. He wanted her, desired her, craved her. He wanted to touch her, caress her, to run his fingers through her dark hair. He wanted to kiss her lips, her eyes, her throat, her breasts.

Desire surged though him. He had seen it so many times on her face as she slept, had heard it escape unbidden from her lips as she dreamt. She had called out his name, not in terror, but in want. He could still picture her, eyes closed, rose-kissed lips open in a silent wish, arching up into the darkness. It was too much. He would not wait. He left his private chamber and climbed the spiral staircase to the room where he had left her. Sliding the heavy lock aside, he opened the wooden door and stepped inside the room. The fire in the hearth had died out hours earlier and the room was cold and dark. Under the cover of thick clouds the moon beamed no light through the arched windows.

Jareth turned his gaze toward the large carved oak bed on the far wall. A figure lay still and quiet upon it, but even in the pitch blackness he knew that she was not asleep. He could hear her ragged, uneven breathing and he felt a twinge of pity. She was afraid. She knew why he was there. Jareth shook the thought away and moved toward the large bed, removing his gloves and waistcoat as he walked and dropping them onto the floor. Reaching the edge of the bed, he sat down on it. Sarah lay on her side with her back to him. Slowly, he reached out a bare hand to sweep her dark hair away from her shoulders. He felt her tremble under his touch. His hand swept over her pale, smooth shoulder and down her forearm and he sighed, relishing the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips. She shifted suddenly and turned to face him. Her eyes glistened with tears in the dim light and he could see how hard she was trying to hold them back. Jareth reached out to touch her again.

"Jareth, please," she whispered, her eyes closed. "Please don't"

Jareth sighed wistfully and touched the back of his hand to her cheek to catch the tears as they fell,

"Now Precious," he said softly, "it won't be as bad as all that. Besides, is this not what you've dreamed about?"

Sarah shook her head and tears spilled over her cheeks. "Not like this," she told him.

"My love," Jareth answered slowly, "I know of no other way."

* * *

**This is a departure for me. I usually stick to the lighter side of things, but Dark Jareth is so alluring. Sarah is no angel here either, though. Don't look for a sweet ending, folks. You'll be sorely disappointed. **

**Fanny**

****My new cover art is called "If I Apologised" by the very talented *saniika over at deviantART. Check out the full scale version here: art/If-I-Apologised-75862222 It even has a lovely song to go with it that seems perfect for this story! **


	2. Chapter 2

_"Jareth, please," she whispered, her eyes closed. "Please don't"_

_Jareth sighed wistfully and touched the back of his hand to her cheek to catch the tears as they fell,_

_"Now Precious," he said softly, "it won't be as bad as all that. Besides, is this not what you've dreamed about?"_

_Sarah shook her head and tears spilled over her cheeks. "Not like this," she told him._

_"My love," Jareth answered slowly, "I know of no other way."_

* * *

He didn't force her; he didn't have to. Sarah cursed herself as she lay in the twisted sheets of the bed, staring hopelessly into the dark. She wasn't sure how it gone so wrong, but she hated herself for being so weak. She had expected Jareth to take her by force and she had made up her mind not to play his game. If he wanted a fight, he wasn't going to get one. She had planned to be still, silent, passive. She had thought he would do what he wanted and then it would be over. Jareth got off on power and intimidation and Sarah didn't want to give him _that_ satisfaction.

He had been rough with her at first, mashing his mouth against hers while grasping and groping at her. When she made no attempt to resist however, he sat back and studied her, seemingly amused.

"No?" he had asked, raising an arched brow. "Where's the little she-devil who tore through my labyrinth and kicked my castle down?' He pressed his mouth against hers again fiercely, but Sarah didn't back down. He'd paused then for a moment and laughed.

"Oh Sarah," he had said, shaking his head. "You really are a cruel thing. Not going to play the game, are you? You're such a twisted little bitch, fighting me by not fighting me."

He'd laughed out loud then, low and dark, and leaned in close to her.

"Fine, Precious," he growled. "What do _you_ want?"

Sarah hadn't backed away from him, but looked him squarely in the eyes. "What I want," she spat, "is to go home."

"Funny, that isn't what you said last night," Jareth had told her.

"I was dreaming, Jareth," Sarah countered. "Whatever I said, I said in my dreams,"

"Yes, in your dreams." Jareth grinned slyly. "You've had very interesting dreams of late, Precious."

Sarah had glared at him. "You know nothing of my dreams, Jareth," she replied icily.

"I know I'm in them," Jareth had said with a smirk. Sarah flinched noticeably and he crept in closer. She'd held herself still as he pushed her dark hair off her shoulders and nuzzled into the side of her neck.

"Tell me what happens in those dreams, Sarah," he'd whispered huskily. He kissed her neck and she closed her eyes and bent her head to the side to allow him in closer. Jareth smiled against the smooth skin of neck before moving to whisper into her ear.

"What do we do in those dreams? What do I do _to_ you?"

Sarah had remained silent with her eyes closed, trying to hold herself in check and not let him see how he was affecting her. She tried to shut out the sound of his voice and the remembered images of her very vivid and erotic dreams. Not thinking, she had brought up one pale, trembling hand to her breast and caressed it sensually, before catching herself and dropping her hand back to her side.

"Ah yes," said Jareth knowingly.

"Jareth, I-" Sarah had begun to protest, but he'd silenced her by placing his mouth over hers. He laid a bare hand over her breast and caressed it the way she had touched herself. Sarah had let out a soft moan as his fingers massaged her skin through the thin fabric of her nightshirt. She opened her eyes as he cupped her breast and gently rubbed his thumb over its peak. Cursing herself, she'd leaned into him, wanting to feel his hands on her bare skin. She grasped the hem of her nightshirt and quickly pulled it over her head and Jareth was still and silent for a moment as he gazed appreciatively at her full breasts. Sarah arched her back offering them up to him and he took them hungrily, greedily. His mouth had explored the curves and peaks of her breasts while his hands roamed further downward, slipping beneath the lace of her panties to caress the warm tangle between her legs.

Sarah had moaned and moved against him, knowing she was lost. She hated herself for allowing Jareth to do this to her. She hated him for making her feel this way. A fire had blazed up in her and she felt helpless against his touch. She twisted and writhed as he whispered seductively to her, telling her to guide him, to show him how she wanted him to touch her, to taste her. Her shaking hands had guided his over her body and he had patiently followed, kissing her and touching her any way she wished. Sarah had clung to him, her fingers twisting into his hair and in the soft fabric of his shirt.

She'd groaned in pleasure and in bitterness for wanting this, for dreaming of it. She berated herself for giving herself over to him, but was unwilling to stop. His hands and mouth on her felt too wonderful, better than she'd dreamed. The night had faded into a blur of pain and ecstasy as they made love in the dark.

Now, in the cold light of day, Sarah felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She'd allowed him to use her, to humiliate her, and worse, she had done it willingly. Her body had betrayed her by responding to him. Even now her skin tingled with the memory of his hands caressing her. She tried to push the memory away, but it replayed over and over in her mind: his graceful fingers gliding over her skin in the moonlight, his mouth tasting her, the weight of his body on top of hers, the rhythm of him thrusting inside her.

Sarah turned her face into her pillow, emotions bombarding her. She didn't know how to feel anymore. She didn't want to remember. She wanted to cherish the memory of the night. She hated Jareth. She wanted him. She detested herself. She was in awe of herself. Damn it all.

* * *

Jareth narrowed his gaze into the crystal. She was crying now. She had cried only briefly when he'd gone to her, when he'd taken her. She had clung to him desperately, passionately. Why did she cry now? He knew she had given herself to him. Did she regret it? He made the crystal disappear with a flick of his wrist and sank back into his throne. Her reaction confused him. She had whispered so many intimate things to him while they made love, had called his name over and over. Why was she despondent now? Did the daylight change her feelings? Jareth shook his head and decided it didn't matter. In the daylight Sarah could weep or sulk or whatever she wished to do in the solitude of her chamber. In the darkest hours of night however, she was his.

He came to her again that evening and the following evening and she didn't even try to pretend any kind of resistance. Her arms went round him and pulled him close, drawing him down with her. Her passion had emboldened him. He took her forcefully and she cried out, but her cries turned to moans of pleasure when they began to move together. The moonlight cast their shadows across the ceiling as they twisted and tumbled in the night. Jareth watched her face as she responded to him. Her eyes were bright in the pale light, her skin slightly flushed. Tender words poured from her full, swollen lips as she caressed him and kissed his chest and neck. Her words were sweet in his ears, but bitter in his mind. He knew that in the morning they would be forgotten, replaced with ice and anger and hatred. The brightness of her eyes would dull to a gaze of contempt and disgust at herself and at him.

The light was far too honest. He knew that was why she cried, but he told himself he didn't care. Why should it bother him what she felt when the morning light revealed the still-warm spot where he had laid beside her? Why should he be concerned that she pulled at her hair and dug her nails into her flesh when the sun poured into her chamber, casting ugly amber light on what she had allowed him to do to her and what she had done to him?

It didn't matter to him. The night was all he craved. In the cover of darkness she was his lover and queen. With only the silver moon for light, he could be whatever she wanted: a gallant prince, a passionate lover, a fairytale. In the darkest hour, the witching hour, they were no longer prisoners of one another, but willing partners in a sensual game of make-believe.

Jareth held her tightly in the cool quiet darkness of her chamber. He knew that all too soon the first shafts of light would steal over the horizon and that he would have to leave her locked away. Her ritual morning-after weeping had become more intense over many days. She banged her head against the walls and cursed him aloud. She bit and clawed at herself. Jareth had taken to retreating to one of the lower levels during the day so as not to hear her wails, and he only returned to the tower when the sun had at last had gone down and the castle was dark enough for them to pretend. Many days and weeks passed in this fashion, anger and tears keeping them apart in the daylight, but passion igniting in the ebony night, binding them together in a disjointed dance between dark and light.

* * *

Sarah could fly; she was certain of it. She wasn't sure how she knew. Perhaps it was the way the sky made her feel when she looked out of the window of the south tower. A fragmented memory passed through her mind when she gazed out at the russet sky dotted with pink clouds. It was of a song from the world Above, something about a piece of sky. She couldn't remember. That world was such a distant memory to her now. How long had she been here? She couldn't remember that either. The days all blurred and ran together into one endless day of solitude and loneliness and rage against herself. The nights stretched into one seemingly eternal night of pain and ecstasy, torture and pleasure.

Sarah blinked into the bright afternoon light of her chamber. How did she know she could fly? Did _he _tell her? No, it was an accident, she remembered now. He had let it slip. She had asked him to let her into the garden, just for some fresh air. The air was so stale and musty in the tower.

"No, Precious," Jareth had told her with a slight smile. "I can't do that. If I let my little bird out of her cage, she may fly away."

Sarah had not caught the true meaning of his words at first. She hadn't even thought of it till much later after Jareth was spent and sleeping soundly with his head on her breast. His words came back to her and it suddenly made sense. He had said it knowing that she would never believe the truth. She would never believe she could fly. But she could.

Sarah laughed to herself. "Ha, Jareth!" she thought. "You didn't think I would find out, did you?" She smiled and lay back on her pillow and pondered the mechanics of flight. She thought about all the times she had seen Jareth transform into an owl, his long, lithe form contracting into wings and talons, his dark cloak becoming snowy white mottled feathers. Sarah wondered what sort of bird she might transform into.

_That must be how it's done._

Perhaps she would be an owl too, or maybe a dove or a sparrow. She could definitely imagine herself as a sparrow.

_Yes, that's it. I must be a sparrow._

Sarah smiled as she pictured her hair becoming feathers and her arms becoming wings. She imagined the look on Jareth's face as she flew out the tower window and out of his grasp.

"You have no power over me," she would tell him and then she would laugh and flit away free.

_I'll turn into a sparrow._

"I wonder if it will hurt," she thought as she finally drifted off to sleep.

* * *

***Please tell me your thoughts on the story so far. Let me know what you like, what bothers you, etc. I appreciate the ones who have done so already. Feedback always helps! **

****Sept 7, 2013- This is "Hell Week" for the show I'm directing, so I'm not sure when the next part will be posted. It's written (mostly) and just waiting to go in doc form. Please be patient with me! Thanks!**

**Fanny**


	3. Chapter 3

Jareth watched Sarah through the crystal as she performed her sunset ritual. She stood calmly at the tower window, face to the rust-colored sky, eyes closed, arms outstretched as if flying. The expression on her face was one of blissful abandon. He had seen it many times in the soft shadowed light of the moon, but never in the warm light of day. He studied her image in the crystal as she moved her arms up in down with fluid strokes and smiled into the red glow of the sinking sun.

Jareth scowled and made the crystal vanish with a graceful flourish of his hand. He rubbed his temples, leaned back on his throne and surveyed the scene around him. He noticed that the normally raucous atmosphere was uncomfortably subdued. The throne room, usually filled to near bursting with ale-gulping goblins, was largely empty. The few goblins that scurried around the edges of the room regarded him even more cautiously than usual. Jareth could see the wary sideways glances they cast in his direction and it made him clench his fists in rage. He knew why they were behaving this way and it made him furious. He'd heard the rumors and he knew what was being whispered around the castle.

He slammed his fists down hard upon the arms of the throne and growled. The goblins screeched and scrambled from the room. He had no doubt they would huddle together in the darkened hallways and speak in hushed voices (for goblins) about how their monarch's sanity was slipping away. Jareth laughed bitterly to himself.

"Poor goblins," he thought, "subjects of a mad king and queen."

His sardonic smile faded at the thought of Sarah. He leaned his head back on the throne and closed his eyes and pictured her, her arms flung wide, a curious smile on her face, blissfully free and uncaring in her delirium.

Jareth cursed her. He had only wanted to bend her to his will, but her will had been so damn strong. He had pushed her further and further, daring her to defy him. He had played cruel games with her, testing her resistance. Jareth thought of his clever "open door" illusion with a mixture of guilt and mild amusement. It was a ruthless trick to make her think that he had left open a way of escape, and for the longest time she had resisted it. She knew it wasn't real. Eventually however, her voracious curiosity got the better of her. She had entered the illusion cautiously, looking all around as she stepped into the dark corridor. Seeing no one, she had broken into a sprint down the hall. Jareth had watched her through a crystal as she ran and ran through the unending passageway. Ever a stubborn girl, she had continued to run even when it became perfectly clear that the hall led no where at all. Finally, exhausted and in tears, Sarah had collapsed in a heap on the cold stone floor, cursing him aloud. Jareth had gone to her then, gathered her in his arms and carried her back to her chamber where he had made love to her.

"Is this all you want from me?" Sarah had asked hoarsely afterward.

Jareth ran his hand across her smooth hip and over her backside. "Mm?" he mumbled, his senses dulled with the faint ripples of release still washing over him.

Sarah had turned over on her side to face him. "Is this all you want from me, Jareth?"

Broken from his dreamy state, Jareth had propped himself on one arm and gazed at her.

"I suppose," he began, "I could ask the same of you. You rarely ever speak to me but to scream my name in the heat of passion."

Sarah had averted her eyes from his cold stare, biting her lip. There was truth to his words.

"If you didn't keep me locked in here…" she'd countered, fully aware that she sounded like a spoiled child.

Jareth had laughed. "My love, did it never occur to you to ask?"

Sarah glanced up at him, surprised. "Would you?" she questioned softly.

"Would I what?" Jareth had teased.

"Would you…let me out?"

He'd studied her face a moment before leaning in close to her ear. "No," he whispered, then fell back onto the bed and cackled.

Sarah had clenched her fists in anger and frustration. "You're a monster," she spat. "You're-"

"Yes, yes," Jareth interrupted. He stared up at the ceiling. "I'm an insufferable, twisted, evil bastard, blah, blah, blah…" he said making a puppet of his hand. "Really, Precious, get some new material."

He'd been silent for a moment, listening to her heavy, ragged breathing. He didn't always wish to anger her, though he loved it when she was riled up. Her emerald eyes flashed fire and her pretty, luscious lips twisted into a little snarl. It was very arousing.

Still, there were times he wished to be gentle and tender with her, but somehow his nature wouldn't allow it. It was much simpler for him to tease and torture and provoke her into a response. He fought against the harsh words in his mind and sought a softer tone.

"I can't let you out, Precious," he had told her finally. "I want to hold you. I want to keep you like a treasure and adore you. I want to see you at every moment of the day and in every angle of light and shadow."

His hand had moved slowly across her breast and down over her stomach.

"I want to know every part of you," Jareth whispered. "Every thought in your beautiful stubborn head and every inch of your warm body."

He'd laid his hand flat across her stomach. "I want to feel your belly round and full with my child, my heir."

Under his hand, Sarah had tensed. He looked deep into her wide green eyes and saw the look of pain and horror in them at the realization of his words. Jareth had given a half-hearted chuckle as his hand slid down further to stroke the dark, coarse curls between her legs.

"Come, come, my dear," he'd smirked. "Surely after denying me your brother as my heir, you wouldn't think to deny me one of my own blood, one of our making." His hand moved in gentle circles on her skin and Sarah had gritted her teeth, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was affecting her, either by his words or by what he was doing with his hands.

"Why don't you just steal another baby to be your heir?" she'd asked bitterly.

"I don't steal babies," Jareth had answered coldly. "I only take what is freely wished away. Besides," he continued, "Not just any child will do as my heir. It must be part of you, Precious."

He had meant for the words to be tender, but unaccustomed as he was to gentle words, they had come out with a sharp edge. Sarah had flinched and tensed again, turning away from him. It angered Jareth.

"You're willing enough to give yourself to me every night for the sake of your own pleasure, but not to give me a child?" he asked with ice in his voice. "Dear Sarah, I believe you're even more selfish than I am."

* * *

Jareth squirmed uncomfortably on his throne. The child had been their undoing. He had hoped it would change things for the better, that it would fully bind Sarah to him at last. After what she had done and endured for the boy who was only her half-brother, he knew that she would never leave a child of her own blood behind. If only he could have foreseen…

With a sigh, he leaned back against his throne and rubbed his throbbing temples again. The memory seared his mind and stabbed his heart. He had known even before she told him. He had _felt _it: something warm and wonderful and magical in her center. He had looked up into her eyes and had seen the confirmation there. Sarah was with child. His child.

Jareth had held her tightly and whispered adoring things into her ear and she had allowed him. She let him caress her and cover her face with sweet kisses. He had made so many promises to her that night. They would marry, she would be queen, she would rule at his side. She was his forever.

In his bliss, Jareth had allowed her to leave her chambers at last. He wanted her to have exercise and fresh air. He accompanied her into the garden every day and they walked arm in arm along the stone paths. Sarah was usually quiet, but not solemn. She seemed lost in though, pensive. He wondered if the prospect of being not only a new mother, but a queen as well weighed heavily on her. It was a heavy burden of responsibility. Jareth inquired about her thoughts, hoping to reassure her, encourage her, but she only gave him a weak smile and told him it was nothing.

If he had it to do over again, she would never have left her tower. She would have been confined to her bed. The mid-wife said it wouldn't have made a difference, but Jareth chose to believe that it could have spared them both the physical and emotional pain of their loss. Even now the ache in his chest made it hard to breathe as he remembered that wretched day.

A desperate call had come from the tower. The two goblins had burst into his study looking pale and sick and trembling from head to toe. "M—Majesty…" they had stuttered.

"What do you want?" he'd asked, highly annoyed at being disturbed. The two goblins had looked at each other warily, neither one wanting to answer.

"Well?" he'd bellowed.

"The Queen, Majesty. She's…" The first little goblin faltered and swallowed hard. The other goblin cautiously stepped forward. "She's crying with the pains. Looks real bad. Says it's too soon."

The room had swirled around him and for a moment he was back in the crumbling tower of years before. He closed his eyes and remembered pieces of broken sandstone and chunks of fractured Time as the clock had struck thirteen and his world had fallen apart. He felt it fall apart all over again as he ran up the stairs toward the sound of Sarah's screams.

_No! No! Please, no!_

The door to her chamber had been wide open and Jareth rushed into the room calling her name. The sight that greeted him was one he would never forget no matter how long he lived or how hard he tried. Sarah was so pale, so still. He'd thought at first she was dead, but upon seeing him, a little whimper escaped her lips. The mid-wife had tried to shoo him out, but he was unmovable. He stood staring down at the bed, where Sarah lay shivering among bloody sheets. _So much blood_. He had tried to speak, to ask what happened, but his voice wouldn't come. He could only watch as the mid-wife and her ladies moved in slow motion around the bed. He could see their mouths moving as they spoke to one another and to him, but their words made no sense and wouldn't register in his mind. The mid-wife had looked up at him sorrowfully as she picked up a tiny wrapped bundle from among the blood-soaked sheets. It was no bigger than her hands.

"Your Majesty," she whispered, "Would you care to…?" She had held the bundle out to him, but he backed away, shaking his head. He didn't want to see. The mid-wife had begun to turn away, but finding his voice at last, Jareth had called to her.

"Was it…?" he began, but was unable to continue.

"It was a boy, Your Majesty," the mid-wife had answered.

* * *

Jareth clutched at his chest as the memory replayed. He was grateful to be alone. He would never want anyone to see him so weak, so vulnerable. He regretted so much. He regretted not foreseeing such tragedy. He regretted being powerless to stop it. He regretted not taking that precious little bundle from the mid-wife and holding it, even for a moment. Most of all, he regretted all the things that came after that horrible day.

Sarah was sick for a long time after her early delivery. The mid-wife gave her herbs to make her sleep and aid in her recovery. Jareth had bombarded the mid-wife with questions. Why had it happened? What could have been done to have prevented it? How soon before Sarah could conceive again?

The mid-wife had not given him the answers he'd wanted. She didn't know why it had happened. It wasn't meant to be. Nothing could have prevented it. Worst of all, it was unlikely that Sarah would ever conceive again. The trauma had been too great. Jareth had raged. He cursed himself and Sarah and even the old mid-wife, banishing her once it was assured that Sarah would recover.

Perhaps recover wasn't the word for it. Sarah got physically better, but he couldn't say she ever recovered. Jareth blamed himself. If only he'd been able to be gentle with her, to give her comforting words, to tell her it would be all right. But he had not. He was too angry and hurt. His heart ached and he wanted to make someone else hurt. No matter that she was already broken and suffering. He wanted her to suffer more, as if it would lessen his own pain. His words had been so cruel.

"I would think you would be relieved, Precious," he'd snapped at Sarah one day when she'd cried to him. He'd wanted to take the words back immediately.

_What's said is said._

"But I didn't mean it," he thought remorsefully.

The words had found their mark. Her face had gone even paler and her emerald eyes had widened in shock and anguish. That was the day she'd started "flying." He had found her at sunset at the tower window with her arms outstretched, smiling up at the warm sky.

"What are you doing?" he'd asked her. He wasn't angry, just curious.

"Isn't it obvious?" she'd replied. "I'm flying. You thought I didn't know, didn't you?" She had turned and smiled at him. "You can't keep me from flying away, Jareth."

He had gone to her and moved her away from the window. She'd wrapped her arms around him and brought him close to her. "One day," she's whispered into his ear. "One day your little bird will fly away and there will be nothing you can do to stop it."

He'd laughed at her.

Jareth breathed a long sigh into the quiet darkness of his throne room. If only he had known the truth…

* * *

**I long to hear from you! Tell me what you think so far. I want to know what you like, dislike, don't understand. Thanks for following "The Witching Hour!" **

****I hear what a lot of you are saying, and believe me, I get it. It's terribly dark and sad. This is what was intended. I wanted to write the saddest and darkest story I could as an exploration away from my usual satire. It looks as though I have succeeded in my goal. I will finish this story up soon, and then I will most likely go back to satire (at least for a while.) I truly appreciate ALL the feedback and everyone who has read, followed and favorited. Many thanks,  
Fanny**


	4. Chapter 4

Sarah slipped softly from the bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping king, and in the dim morning light crept over to the tower window. The sun was just beginning to rise over the twisting and tilted goblin dwellings, casting angled shadows over the city. She glanced past the crooked city and the rambling labyrinth beyond toward the blazing horizon that waited for her like a whispered promise. Today she would fly.

Sarah smiled at the thought. She would fly fast and far and free and Jareth would be unable to stop her. She had originally thought that she might take the form of a tiny sparrow, able to dart away and hide from his predatory owl form, but after much more consideration Sarah decided that she was a falcon. Fast and powerful, she would be able to soar high above him and with greater speed than even he could dream of.

Sarah closed her eyes and smiled to herself again. What a glorious thing it would be to fly straight up toward the sun where even the Goblin King would be unable to follow! She chuckled a bit at the thought.

"What's so amusing, Precious?" said a voice from the bed. Sarah didn't turn around.

"Falcons are the fastest moving creatures on Earth," she told Jareth. He smiled and got up and made his way to the window where she stood and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Is that so?" he asked, placing a kiss on her bare shoulder. Sarah tensed under his touch.

"Yes," she answered. "They're much faster than owls."

"What a pity," Jareth answered snidely as he turned away to dress.

Sarah stayed at the window until he had gone, gazing out at the lightening sky. The day promised to be beautiful, mild and sunny with a soft southern breeze. The perfect day to fly.

* * *

Jareth tried to forget her words as he set about his duties, but they kept resurfacing in his mind, taunting him. He pushed them away again and again as he pored over documents and listened to complaints. He attempted to lose himself in a large volume of war history that afternoon, but her words replayed in his ears.

_Falcons are the fastest moving creatures on Earth. They're much faster than owls._

What was it about such ramblings that set him so on edge? He closed the book and set it aside, unable to ignore the gnawing sense of dread any longer. Sarah's words made no sense at all, but she seemed so committed to them. She believed in their significance. It was as if she were trying to make him see an important truth, but with only fragments of lucid thought to communicate her wishes and desires to him.

Jareth pulled a crystal from the air and stared into it. Sarah was no longer at the window. She had dressed and was sitting at the small table in her chamber enjoying a small lunch of cheese and bread. She looked content, but something about the far away look in her eyes bothered Jareth. She was so removed from her reality. Even in the midst of an Otherworldly kingdom she lived in a dream world.

With a flick of the king's wrist the crystal vanished. Jareth ran a gloved hand over his eyes. This was all wrong. He had wanted so much, had _given_ so much, but it had not been enough. It was not enough to make Sarah a queen and shower her with jewels and gowns and whatever else her heart desired. He had tried to be what she wanted in those dark witching hours, a tender lover, a charming prince, an adoring paramour. The illusion faded with the morning sun, and in the light of day he was to her what he always had been, a cruel captor, a ruthless king, a villain.

He cursed her inwardly. Why did she have to make him a villain? He wanted to give her tenderness, but every time he saw the coldness in her eyes, every time she tensed beneath his fingers he wanted to wrap his hands around her beautiful neck and squeeze the breath from her. She infuriated him as much as she aroused him. She made him feel as much hate for her as he felt passion.

Jareth stood and paced the musty library. It wasn't as if he didn't feel any remorse for taking her the way he had. It was in infinitesimal amount of remorse, but by his standards any amount of remorse was substantial. And she had wished herself away to him. She had wanted it, had dreamt of it! For her to act otherwise was hypocrisy. Still, Jareth knew he had been harsh in his treatment of her. His games, meant to bend her willful little spirit, had pushed Sarah to the brink. His words though had done the most damage.

_I would think you would be relieved, Precious._

Words had power, and his had broken her.

* * *

The clock on the mantle began to chime the hour and Sarah pushed her plate away. She had made a point to eat well that day. She would need strength for her transformation as well as her long flight. She stood and moved away from the little table, noting how the blazing sky beckoned her as she walked by the arched window.

"Soon," she whispered. "Very soon."

* * *

Jareth stopped in front of the heavy wooden door. He usually didn't go to her during the day. He couldn't stand the look of utter hatred in her eyes or worse, the blank stare as she seemed to gaze through him beyond to some unseen place of sanctuary.

With a sigh, he unlatched the metal lock and opened the door. Sarah stood in the middle of the room, as if waiting on him. Jareth stared, surprised.

"I heard you coming," she told him in answer to his unasked question.

"How?" he asked.

"Falcons have a very acute sense of hearing," replied Sarah.

Jareth frowned and put his hands on his hips. "What is all this talk about falcons, Sarah?"

Sarah smiled and shrugged. "You'll see," she told him teasingly.

Jareth stepped toward her and grasped her shoulders. "You will tell me now," he commanded. Sarah looked up at him with narrowed eyes and slight smile.

"Very well," she said. "Release me and I'll show you."

Reluctantly, Jareth removed his hands from her shoulders and stepped back. With a deep breath, Sarah closed her eyes and slowly raised her arms above her head. Jareth watched in wonder as she began to twirl in the center of the room faster and faster until it appeared she would spin out of control and crash into the walls.

"Sarah-" Jareth called out in warning.

"Are you watching, Jareth?" Sarah sang out to him as she continued to spin wildly. "I'm changing! I feel it!"

Her spinning began to slow and she brought her arms down to her sides and opened her eyes. With wide eyes she admired herself.

"Oh Jareth," she cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I didn't know I would be this beautiful!"

Jareth only stared, horrified as she moved to her mirror to view her reflection. She squealed in delight at what she saw.

"Look at me, Jareth!" Sarah said, turning back to him. "I did it! I changed!"

Jareth's chest tightened painfully as he watched her prancing and floating about her chamber. He was unsure of what she saw, but his view was of a mad queen lost in a desperate illusion. He swallowed hard and moved toward her.

"Sarah," he whispered, reaching out to her. She held her arms out to him.

"Am I not beautiful?" she asked, cocking her head to one side.

"Always, Precious," Jareth answered hoarsely.

"You're not happy that I've changed, are you?" Sarah questioned.

Jareth shook his head. He wanted to fold her into his arms, but she moved away from him and went to the window.

"You'll just have to get over that," she told him flatly. "You should have never told me about being able to fly if you wanted to keep me. Now that I know, I can leave any time I wish and you can't stop me."

"Sarah-" Jareth tried to interrupt, but Sarah gushed on. "Maybe at one time I would have come back. I loved you, after all. I might have come back…"

"Sarah, come away from the window," Jareth urged. She ignored him.

"I don't think I will now. Come back, that is," Sarah continued. She climbed up onto the sill of the arched window. "I think I'll fly as far as I can from this place and not look back."

"Sarah, please." Jareth was begging now. "Please come down from there. You don't know what you're doing. You can't fly, Sarah."

Sarah turned and glared at him, anger and determination flaring in her bright green eyes.

"Like hell, I can't," she spat. "I know you and your tricks, Goblin King. You'll say anything to keep me here. I don't believe you." She paused and a wicked smile spread across her face. "You have no power over me!" she cried triumphantly before turning back to the window.

Jareth watched, frozen in horror as Sarah crouched down on the window sill and then leapt into the space beyond. For one glorious second she seemed to hang in mid air and Jareth thought perhaps she could fly after all. But then with a sharp cry she tumbled out of view and toward the unforgiving ground below.

"Sarah!" Jareth screamed as she disappeared over the edge of the window. Without thinking, he ran to the ledge and looked down. The sight that greeted him brought a groan from the deepest parts of his soul. He closed his eyes and turned away from the sight of twisted limbs and cold unblinking green eyes. He heard shouting and cries of anguish from below the tower as goblins gathered to see what had happened. The sound made him physically ill. He had to get away from it. He staggered out of the room and through the darkened corridors toward his sanctuary at the other end of the castle. There, behind the heavy carved wooden door he raged and cursed.

"Damn her!" he roared. "Damn that stupid girl! Damn her and damn me!"

Why? Why had she not listened to him? Stupid arrogant brat!

Jareth crashed heavily against the stone wall. What did she expect him to do now? Was he supposed to follow her down? Throw himself from the ledge in mad anguish? No, he couldn't do that. _Wouldn't_ do that. That stupid, selfish girl would just have to be sorely disappointed. Jareth straightened himself and took a deep breath. He wouldn't fall apart. He wouldn't go mad with grief. He would carry on as usual, as if nothing at all had happened. That would teach Sarah.

"Yes," he thought bitterly. "That will teach her."

He remained in solitude, closed away until the next day when a tentative knock at the heavy wooden door roused him from his dark thoughts.

"Go away," the king demanded angrily. He was in no mood for company.

The person behind the door shifted slightly, but didn't leave. Jareth could imagine whoever it was nervously deciding whether to run away or risk his wrath by knocking again.

"Leave now," he called, hoping to spare them too much taxing on an already feeble brain.

"M—Majesty…" came a stuttering voice from behind the door.

In exasperation, Jareth rose and stormed over to the door and yanked it open furiously.

"Who dares-" he began, but stopped. There appeared to be no one in the hallway. A little cough directed his gaze downward and he saw the dwarf standing at the door, one weathered hand nervously toying with the plastic beads on his wrist.

"What do you want?" Jareth asked icily. His eyes narrowed on the little dwarf and he could see his knobby little knees shaking. "Good," he thought, "Fear me."

The little dwarf steadied himself and looked up at the Goblin King. He took a deep breath, hoping the king would not hear the quiver in his voice.

"It…it's about Sarah, I mean, the queen, Majesty." Hoggle noticed the king's flinch when he said her name and he gushed on, ready to be done with this wretched business.

"I…we…" he faltered, trying to match his courage to his anger before finally blurting out what was on his mind. "It ain't right to leave her where she is, just lying there like that. She was a nice girl and my friend, and she's just lying there like something somebody tossed out. That's what it is, isn't it?" he cried. "You broke her and tossed her out like garbage for the Junk Lady. It ain't right."

Jareth could hear the pain and desperation in the dwarf's voice and knew he was becoming unhinged. How else could the little coward bring himself to speak to his king in such a fashion? Jareth forced himself to remain calm.

"What would you have me do?" he asked as he left the doorway and moved to the large window on the other side of the room. The dwarf didn't follow. Jareth sat down on the window ledge and rested his arm on his knee. He looked over the rooftops of the goblin city and out to the twisting labyrinth beyond. He didn't allow himself to look toward the south tower. He knew what was there.

"You haven't answered me, Hogsnout," he said turning back to the dwarf. "What would you have me do?"

Hoggle glared up at the king and furrowed his wrinkled brow. He would not let Jareth's bullying keep him from his purpose.

"Move her, Your Majesty," he stated calmly. "Or at least let me or Didymus do it. We'll take 'er away. Give 'er a proper burial."

Jareth was quiet for a moment, thinking on the dwarf's proposal. "No, I think not," he replied finally.

Hoggle was dumbfounded. "But, Your Majesty," he exclaimed, his eyes growing wide with confusion and anger. "Why not?" he demanded to know.

Losing patience, Jareth leapt off the window ledge and was across the room before Hoggle could blink. He picked up the little dwarf by the collar and shoved him hard into the far wall.

"Why?" he spat. "I'll tell you why, you miserable piece of filth. Because she doesn't deserve it. She threw herself out a window in a selfish tantrum. I gave her everything I had, a palace, a throne, my very _heart, _and she wasn't happy. I should have never…" Jareth paused in his tirade and poked a finger into Hoggle's chest. "And don't you go making a martyr of her," he commanded. "She was no friend of yours. She abandoned you too."

He loosened his grip on the dwarf and allowed him to slide to the floor. Hoggle scrambled to his feet and moved toward the door.

"Hogwash," Jareth spoke coldly and Hoggle froze in his tracks. "If you or anyone else dares to move her, you'll find yourself in the deepest, darkest oubliette in the labyrinth.

Hoggle clenched his jaw and shook his head bitterly. "I'll never forgive you for this," he said sadly.

Jareth laughed. "I neither require nor wish for your forgiveness. Now, go away and leave me before you find yourself in the Bog, or worse."

The little dwarf sadly shuffled out and Jareth slammed the heavy wooden door so hard that the books and trinkets on the shelves rattled and shook. He turned once again to the window, watching solemnly as the sun sank into the horizon. The sky above the labyrinth blazed pink and scarlet while the goblin city was cloaked in indigo shadow. Jareth sighed and leaned against the window frame and closed his eyes. Perhaps the dwarf was right. It was unspeakably cruel of him to leave her to the elements and wild creatures. Still, she had done the unthinkable, the unforgivable.

Jareth's eyes snapped open at the sound of voices below him at the base of the south tower. He peered down from his perch at the figures in the dim light. His keen eyes could make out that one of the figures was that of the dwarf, the other was the knight, Sir Didymus. They were hovering over the broken body of the fallen queen. Had they dared to defy him even after his warnings? Jareth's face twisted into a furious scowl at their blatant disobedience. They would pay dearly for this act of defiance.

Jareth's scowl soon vanished into an expression of awe and amazement as he watched as the dwarf and the knight positioned themselves at either end of Sarah's body. Stiff and alert as sentries, they guarded her body as night crept over the land.

* * *

Jareth stepped out into the cool of the night and gazed up at the starless sky. With a swirl of his inky cloak he made his way across the dark courtyard and around the south tower of the castle. In the distance he could see the little knight pacing back and forth, his sword glinting in the moonlight as he dutifully guarded his fallen mistress. Nearby, the dwarf slept under an old oak tree against the castle wall.

"Sir Didymus," Jareth called softly and the knight halted his pacing and whirled around.

"Your Majesty!" he cried in alarm, quickly sheathing his drawn sword. "Please forgive me, Sire. I knew not it was thee." He bowed gracefully. As he did, Jareth could see beyond him to where Sarah lay crumpled on the cold stone. She looked so small and for a moment Jareth could not move or breathe. A searing pain scorched his chest and he clutched desperately at his heart. Sir Didymus moved toward him.

"Sire, I hope I have not angered thee by being here. My friend and I only wished to guard the dear lady…" he trailed off, unsure how to continue.

Jareth straightened himself and looked down at the brave and loyal knight. "Your services are no longer needed, Sir Knight," he said dismissively.

"But Your Majesty," Didymus argued, "I am sworn to protect my lady-"

"Your lady is dead!" Jareth cried. His voice echoed across the courtyard and into the shadows beyond. The little knight flinched, but did not move. Jareth rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, pushing down the raw anger that had bubbled up inside him. With a sigh, he looked down at the knight.

"Sir Didymus," he began calmly, "I thank you for your loyal service, but I will deal with…this situation myself now."

He gazed past the knight once more toward the still form on the ground. Her pale skin was luminous in the moonlight, her hair spread across the stones like skeins of dark silk. He moved closer and could see the unnatural positioning of her body, limbs twisted and broken and bent at crude angles. Pain stabbed at his heart again and he groaned.

_Sarah._

Sir Didymus looked up at his king and saw the look of suffering on his face, the haunted look in his mismatched eyes. In all his years of faithful service, he had never wished ill upon his king. Yet now, he took some comfort in the Goblin King's anguish.

"You may leave now, Sir Knight," Jareth whispered. "I will see that the lady is looked after."

Sir Didymus bowed low before slipping quietly into the shadows. Jareth removed his dark cloak and draped it over Sarah's broken form and quietly, so as not to waken the sleeping dwarf, he bent down and scooped her into his arms. Cradling her carefully to his chest, the Goblin King carried her toward the forest.

Jareth moved swiftly and silently through the dark columns of trees. He did not wish to be observed and he cautiously checked about as he walked to make certain he had not been followed. The body in his arms did little to slow him; she was light and not a burden to carry. Thin spires of moonlight danced through the trees as the Goblin King glided through the quiet forest. Every now and then a small rustle stirred in the underbrush as some nocturnal creature scurried out of the way, but otherwise there was silence among the trees.

Jareth slowed as he neared the place, a small clearing hidden among the towering trees. Here the ground was uncluttered by brown leaves or dry twigs, but was covered in a lush carpet of emerald moss.

"The color of her eyes," he thought to himself.

He laid Sarah down gently in the clearing, carefully unwrapping the cloak from her lifeless form. He set to work moving earth and stone, calling upon his mystical powers to embed her in a protective shell deep in the ground where she would never be disturbed. The ground rippled and opened, swallowing her down into it before closing once more. The carpet of moss fell gracefully back into place like a blanket of green velvet over a bed of earth. Jareth was still and silent in the clearing, breathing in the smell of turned soil and dewy moss. There was more he should do. He briefly considered a headstone, but decided it would be unwise. It would certainly not do to have Sarah's idiotic friends proclaiming this place a shrine and traipsing through the virgin forest on "pilgrimage."

No, he needed something else, something secret. Suddenly inspired, Jareth removed the glove from his right hand and knelt on the cushion of moss. Extending a long, pale index finger, he tapped lightly on the ground. The earth shivered slightly beneath his touch and Jareth stood back and watched as a deep green sliver broke through the surface and danced upward. Roots spread beneath it, and from its top, branches burst outward unfurling spear-shaped leaves. The Goblin King appreciated the symbolism of the Elder tree. Also known as the Fairy tree, it had long been associated with death and endings.

Surveying the clearing once more, Jareth found that its ordinariness satisfied him. There was nothing to mark it as a place of any significance. It was just a clearing in the wood with a cover of moss and a spindly Elder tree. In time, even he would forget what, _who_ was here.

He turned to leave, feeling deep in his heart that he should do something, say something. He glanced back at the clearing, bracing a hand against the little Elder tree.

"You win, Precious," he whispered to the night.

Draping his cloak over his arm, he left the clearing and melted into the dark forest, fully intent on never setting foot there again. Still, the stories are told among the goblins and Fair Folk alike of a haunted clearing in the woods and of a great white owl who sits in the branches of an Elder tree every evening at the Witching Hour.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Before you can say anything: _I've brought you a gift. _(Produces crystal and holds it out to reader) _Do you want it? _*Poof! Glitter glitter! Sparkle sparkle!* _It's your very own goblin to kick or yell at in frustration. _(Darn you, Frances!)**

**I have no excuses or apologies to offer for this story. I've read a multitude of stories with J/S as great couple doing everything right: being brave, gallant, tender, forgiving. I wanted to write about J/S as a great couple doing everything wrong: being cowardly, bitter, suspicious, cruel, unforgiving. I know, I took it to the extreme, but that was by design. Please don't hate me for going all Steven Moffat on our beloved characters. I promise, my next piece will be of much lighter stuff.**

**Till then, dear readers, I will be barricaded in my fortress awaiting the torches and pitchforks. **

**Much love,**

**Fanny**


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